


Give Him Back to Me

by sidebysidewithafriend



Series: Great Library Prequels [2]
Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, M/M, Prequel, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Wolfti, established Niccolo Santi/Christopher Wolfe, hurt/comfort but only a bit, the library does not like printing presses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidebysidewithafriend/pseuds/sidebysidewithafriend
Summary: Wolfe and Santi learn firsthand that crossing the Great Library has consequences.
Relationships: Niccolo Santi/Christopher Wolfe
Series: Great Library Prequels [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625797
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	Give Him Back to Me

**Day 1**

“Nic?” Wolfe half-rose from the bed at the sound of knocking, leaving his Codex open beside him. Something was off, though. Nic wouldn’t knock. He had a key. Besides, Nic was away in Belgium, training a new company. He wasn’t due back for another day or two, and that was assuming everything went to plan. 

Nevertheless, when the knock came again he got to his feet and headed for the door. 

“Scholar Christopher Wolfe?” The men were unfamiliar; High Garda soldiers. Santi might have recognised them. 

“That’s me,” he said, frowning. “What do you want?” 

“You’re to come with us.” 

“Will it take long?” He and Santi both had the evening off, and the next day. As usual, they planned to spend their precious free time together. 

“Up to you. Come on.” 

Wolfe didn’t move. One of the soldiers slapped him across the face, sending him reeling. Before he could regain his feet, the other grabbed his shoulder and dragged him forward, forcing him to take a few steps rather than fall on his face. 

“At least let me —” 

“No.” 

“Where are you taking me?” 

The soldier who had hit him wrestled his hands behind his back and bound them, before nudging him between the shoulder blades. He got the point. He began to walk. 

“The Archivist wants you to pay him a visit.” 

The words sent a shiver down Wolfe’s spine. 

**Day 3**

The front door had been left ajar. 

“Chris?” 

Santi closed the door behind him, dumped his pack and kicked off his boots. Silence. 

He’d sent a Codex message to tell Chris he’d be home today. It was unlike him not to be there to welcome his lover home. 

“Chris?” 

Perhaps he was out late. Some piece of research eluding him. Distraction. It had happened before, though only on occasion. He flipped open his Codex, scrawling a message. 

_ Chris, where are you? Are you alright?  _

Nothing. 

_ Chris? _

Wolfe had been too distracted to check his Codex before. No need to worry just yet. 

He would wait. 

**Day 3**

That night when Santi went to bed, he saw Wolfe’s Codex lying open beside it. Abandoned. 

That was not normal. 

**Day 4**

_ Chris?  _

This had not happened before. But it had happened to him. He supposed the Library had given Chris a job to do. 

**Day 5**

Perhaps he ought to contact the Library himself. Maybe they would tell him where Chris was. 

**Day 7**

Santi reread the message in his Codex for the fifth time. 

_ Scholar Wolfe is on assignment. Please refrain from further inquiries.  _

That couldn’t be right. Wolfe would never have gone on assignment without telling him. Even the night before he’d left, nothing had been amiss. He’d said nothing about an assignment, or indeed any change to their usual routine. 

So where was he? 

**Day 26**

_ Scholar Wolfe is on a mission for the Artifex Magnus. Please refrain from further inquiries.  _

Santi shut the Codex with a slam. “Where is he?” he growled, as though the worn leather cover could answer him. “Where is he?” 

He was tempted to hurl the book across the room, although he knew that would get him no answers. He also knew that Chris, had he been there, would have disapproved. 

Had Chris been there, however, Santi would have been in a much more pleasant mood. 

**Day 42**

_ Please refrain from further inquiries.  _

He’d sent a message every morning, demanding to know where his lover was, but received the same evasive five-word reply, every time. 

**Day 51**

Wolfe stared at the blank stone wall, eyelids drooping. The tiny cell seemed to grow smaller every day he was here; he’d lost count of how many days. Some days he’d slept through, some days he’d been too exhausted to notice the passing of time, some days he’d been in too much pain to care. 

He wondered how long it would take him to break, for his mind to fail or his heart to give out. 

He’d already lost hope that they might let him go. If it was information they wanted, there was nothing more to tell them. They had all his work, everything. 

Desperately he reached for the one image he knew would keep him sane. Niccolo Santi. Behind his closed eyes Nic was real, right in front of him. He could see his sparkling dark eyes, his dimpled smile, feel the warmth of his arms. 

He felt the knot in his stomach start to loosen, started to forget the wounds he’d received. 

Slowly he slipped off to sleep, still imagining that Santi’s strong arms held him, keeping the darkness and the fear at bay. 

**Day 73**

_ Please refrain from further inquiries.  _

He no longer believed the claim that Chris was “on a mission”. Chris would have told him if he were to be away for this long, no matter how secret the matter. The two of them had no secrets. 

**Day 89**

“I can’t do this,” Wolfe whispered to Santi. “I just want it to stop.” 

Santi whispered back, “We’ll get through it together. I’ll be here. I promise.” 

“I’m scared,” Wolfe admitted, knowing he sounded like a frightened child.    
Santi just held him; Wolfe felt the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, listened to the sound of his breathing, and was less afraid than he had been. 

He knew, whatever happened, that he would be able to rely on Santi as he’d done for years. 

Santi would keep him safe. 

**Day 100**

_ Please refrain from further inquiries.  _

“No,” Santi snapped at the page, wishing he could send the message right to the Artifex himself. Wishing he could shake the man until he told him where his lover had gone. “No! I will  _ not _ !” 

This time he did throw the Codex across the room, where it hit the wall and landed in a sad, crumpled heap on the floor. 

Then a thought came to him and he stood up so fast his chair crashed to the ground behind him. 

**Day 121**

He’d spent a few weeks trying to get an audience with the Artifex. So far, nothing. Codex messages, unsurprisingly, had continued to yield nothing. 

He had to hope something would happen. 

**Day 128**

_ Your request for an audience with the Artifex Magnus has been approved. Please present yourself outside his office at 9 a.m. tomorrow.  _

This was his chance to finally, finally get an answer. He wouldn’t let the Artifex evade his question. Tomorrow, he would know where Chris had gone, why he’d said nothing about it. 

Tomorrow. 

**Day 129**

When Santi opened his eyes, it was dark. The floor beneath him was cold against his bare side. His chest throbbed and stung. 

_ Where am I? _

He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. It was plain grey stone. Unfamiliar. 

_ What happened?  _

He vaguely remembered walking into the Artifex’s office. Remembered locking eyes with the Artifex as he toyed with a Garda dagger. Remembered the Artifex’s snake-like smile as another man stepped out of a shadowy corner. After that, nothing. 

With some effort, he sat up, his head spinning. He reached up to touch his chest, then pulled his hand away with a hiss of pain. His fingers came away bloody. Through the darkness of the room, when he looked down he saw four long, even cuts across his chest. He looked at his hand again; beneath the fresh blood on his fingertips was more blood - dried, dark red. He had a bad feeling it was his own. 

And then he remembered.

The man from the shadows placing a hand on his shoulder. Handing the man - the Mesmer - his shirt. The Artifex handing him the Garda dagger. Raising it to his own chest, unable to stop as the blade pierced his flesh. Hot, wet blood on his skin. 

The sound of a door banging open startled him out of the painful memory. 

“I hope this teaches you a lesson, Captain.” The bright light from the doorway meant the figure was but a silhouette; Santi had to raise a hand to let his eyes adjust. “You were instructed to refrain from further inquiries. If you continue to inquire into the whereabouts of Scholar Wolfe, you may lose your career, or worse. Now get out.” 

The person made no move to help Santi as he struggled to his feet, still stiff and dizzy. He was no stranger to injury, however, and walked out the door with a neutral expression plastered on his face. 

Only once he returned home did he drop the act and let out a scream of pain. For himself and for his lover. If the Library was going to such lengths to conceal Wolfe’s whereabouts, it could not be good. 

**Day 130**

_ You are not to tell anyone anything which transpired in your meeting with the Artifex, nor anything afterwards. You will complete your duties in the Garda as though nothing has happened. If you do not, there will be consequences.  _

**Day 147**

Santi tossed his armour aside, peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt and collapsed onto his bed, swearing loudly. Trying to pretend he was able-bodied and uninjured was worse than the original injuries. Garda work was hard and demanding, and to show any sign of weakness or incapability would get him ridiculed at best and demoted or fired at worst. Finding someone who would stitch up the gashes without asking too many questions had been a challenge. Trying not to burst any of the stitches had also been a challenge. 

He closed his eyes, imagining that if he were to open them Chris would be lying beside him. Maybe it had all been a bad dream. 

The familiar, idyllic image seemed so real that when he whispered “Chris?” he was startled to get no reply. His eyes shot open; as he stared at the ceiling in the agonising silence, he felt tears prick his eyelids. 

**Day 149**

_ Captain Santi, _

_ No-one besides you or I can read this. Do not worry that we may be spied on.  _

_ I was informed that you have been asking for the whereabouts of my son.  _

Santi’s heart leapt. 

_ I do not know any more than you. I was not aware that anything was amiss.  _

His heart sank once more. 

_ I will inform you if I find out any information. Do not attempt to contact me.  _

_ Keria Morning _

_ Obscurist Magnus _

He read the message twice, then watched it fade from the page. He had to hope that Keria could use her position to find out something. Anything. 

In the meantime, he would keep asking the only way he could. 

**Day 156**

“So, what did they want?” 

Santi’s squad mate Jonas Kwon flopped down beside him. “Just wanted to know if we’d seen anything about some machine, on any confiscation raids. I think… I think they said there’d been someone who’d tried to undermine the Library, they wanted to know how widespread it was. Nothing huge.” 

“Was it something you knew about?” 

“Nah. Nothing we’d seen on a raid.” He looked up. “Oh, it’s your turn.” 

“Close the door behind you, Captain, and sit down.” 

The room was dim, the only furniture a table and two chairs. Behind the table sat a woman Santi did not recognise, flanked by two guards. 

Santi obeyed the instruction, sitting down in the unoccupied chair. He tried to assume a friendly expression.    
“Have you heard or seen anything to do with the construction of a printing press?” The woman’s tone was light and calm, but by no means friendly. 

“A what?” 

“A printing press. We’ve discovered possible corruption within the city, and were wondering if you could assist us in discovering how widespread the problem is. Perhaps you saw something on a confiscation raid?” 

Santi shook his head, perplexed. “No, nothing. I’d certainly have reported any such thing.” 

“Good. Please inform your commander if you do see anything of the sort in future.” She nodded to one of the guards behind her, then turned back to Santi. “Thank you, Captain. You may go.” 

“I wish you all the best in your inquiries,” said Santi politely, shoving his chair backwards and standing. She was clearly important, and it couldn’t hurt to make a good impression. 

“Thank you,” the woman replied, still in that light, calm tone. 

As he closed the door, Santi had the odd feeling that he was missing something. 

**Day 163**

Wolfe jerked awake, alone and cold, to the sound of Santi screaming. He sat bolt upright, trying to see anything in the darkness of his cell. The sounds did not seem to come from the room he was in. 

Santi must have been taken for questioning. 

“No!” he cried, though he did not know if anyone would hear him. “Don’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him, he doesn’t know anything!” 

No reply.    
“Please,” he tried again, but the strength was gone from his voice and all that came out was a soft whimper. 

He placed his head in his hands, feeling tears sting the back of his eyelids. “Don’t hurt him.”  _ Give him back to me. _

He’d spent months concealing his work from Nic, knowing it was risky, not wanting to put him in danger. He’d hated every minute of it. The two of them had never had any secrets, and this had been a large secret. 

He’d been trying to keep Nic out of this, to take the fall himself.

And now they had Nic anyway. 

**Day 172**

_ I believe Christopher is alive. I have not learned much else.  _

**Day 216**

It should have been a routine confiscation. In hindsight, Santi thought, he should have known that his captain had been acting strangely. 

He stared out of the second-floor window, listening to the other Garda soldiers moving around below, searching for contraband books and piling them up to be archived. He was one of four who had been instructed to keep a watch on the surrounds of the house, to ensure nothing went in or out. 

A floorboard creaked behind him; he had only half-turned when the shot hit him in the back. 

Although his armour stopped the bullet, the impact knocked the air from his lungs and threw him out of the window. He landed hard on his back, coughing and gasping for air. He tasted blood. 

Above him his captain leaned out of the window he’d fallen from, gun in hand. With no strength to move, Santi knew he was an easy target. And he had a bad feeling that this had been ordered by the Library. To shut him up. 

The captain turned away; Santi guessed someone else had entered the room. Then another face leaned out the window, face morphing into a shocked expression. Happily, it was Jonas, who was Medica trained. As Jonas turned and dashed away (presumably to the stairs), Captain Alanis looked out of the window again, a finger to her lips. Santi got it. Don’t tell anyone what happened. 

So when Jonas asked, Santi said only, “I don’t know”. 

**Day 217**

Santi was very glad of his armour. The shot would almost definitely have been fatal if not for the flexible plate armour, which had been damaged in the hit. 

As it was, he had a spectacular bruise from the impact and broken ribs from the fall. According to Jonas’s recommendation, and that of the other Medica who had treated him, he was to be taken off official duty and training for at least six weeks. 

His Codex vibrated; he flung out an arm to open the cover. Five words appeared on the page. Five words he was tired of seeing. 

_ Please refrain from further inquiries. _

With a heavy sigh, Santi resolved to follow the instruction this time. He had to believe Chris would come back. The only thing worse than Wolfe not returning would be for him to return, only to find his lover gone. 

He would wait. 

**Day 220**

The door to Wolfe’s cell swung open, casting a viciously bright light into his eyes. Before the men could even say a word, he snapped, “For the last time, Nic doesn’t know anything. I swear.” 

“Oh, we’re no longer concerned about your precious captain,” said one. 

A chill ran down Wolfe’s spine, though he tried to keep calm.  _ Give them the benefit of the doubt. _ “Because you believe me?” 

“Because he’s dead,” the other told him nonchalantly.

Wolfe felt as though the air had been knocked out of him. Despite his aching body, he drew himself as upright as he could. “Dead?” 

“Didn’t much like being questioned, tried to run off. Well, I say run. Crawl would be an overstatement. He hadn’t made it far when they caught up to him to teach him a lesson. Wasn’t a quick learner. He died crying out for you.” He paused, smiling. “As a matter of fact, I think they’re still cleaning his blood off the steps. Want to go and help them?” 

Wolfe slumped. “No.” Niccolo Santi was stronger than that. “No!” 

“Yes,” the first man informed him, a slight smile on his face. 

Bile rose in his throat, and he leaned over to heave out the little inside his stomach. The two guards stepped back with a scowl, but stayed there, watching him. He pushed himself up and growled, “Get out.” 

“See, you don’t give the orders ‘round here,” the second said. “And we have to make sure you understand our message.” 

“I get the point,” Wolfe snarled, desperately trying to hold it together. Trying to pretend it wasn’t real. “Go!” 

“No, I don’t think you do. What do you think it was that made the captain try something as stupid as he did?” The man addressed the question to his companion. 

“Might have been the fingernails they pulled out. Maybe the stretching on the rack. No-one enjoys having all their limbs pulled out of their sockets. Oh! Perhaps it was the broken fingers…” 

Wolfe barely heard the rest as the man continued. He was picturing Nic’s strong, capable hands: bloody, broken and useless. Nic’s face: bruised and bloody, dark eyes vacant. A smear of blood on the Library steps. Nic crying out, calling his name. 

The images tumbled around behind his eyes, blurring together until all he could see was Nic, Nic in pain, alone, dying, dead. 

“GET OUT!” he screamed. The tears he’d been trying to hold back began to fall, blinding him. He groped beside him for the small bowl he’d used yesterday, flinging it in the direction of the two men. They slammed the cell door behind them, just in time, and the bowl clattered against it. 

“Damn you,” he sobbed, curling up on the cold floor. “Damn you all.” 

Nic was dead, and he hadn’t been able to stop it. 

**Day 245**

Santi stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, much as he’d done for most of the past four weeks. Chris is alive, Chris is alive, Chris is alive, he told himself. Which meant he’d come back. He had to. 

He hadn’t had any word from Keria in nearly two months. He ached to know more. But he had to trust Keria. 

**Day 271**

“Niccolo!” Jonas was the first to greet Santi as he approached the compound. “You’re back.” 

“I am,” Santi agreed shortly. “What are we doing today? Training?” 

“Yeah, just training. Target practice, I think.” 

Santi nodded and made to leave. Jonas put a hand on his shoulder. “You ok, man? You seem a bit out of it.” 

“I’m fine.” Santi shrugged the hand off. 

Jonas gave him a pointed look. “You’re not. Everything ok with Christopher?” The three men had studied together as postulants; Chris had become a Scholar, while Jonas and Santi had joined the Garda. In fact, Santi suspected that Jonas had been the one to encourage Chris to make the first move. 

As much as Santi wanted to tell him everything, he couldn’t. He pressed his lips together, afraid that if he said anything he’d crack, and merely nodded. 

Although Jonas didn’t look convinced, he just said, “You can talk to me anytime if you need to, ok?” 

Santi wished that were true. 

**Day 324**

_ I am certain that Christopher lives. I can say no more. I do not wish to endanger you.  _

_ Do not lose hope, dear Niccolo.  _

**Day 347**

Santi was well aware that Jonas didn’t believe his claims that he was alright. It had been more than two months, and although he appreciated Jonas checking on him every so often, he could do nothing but lie. He was far from alright, and he knew that Jonas knew it. Fortunately, for both of them, Jonas pretended as though he believed Santi, and let him be. 

**Day 383**

Over a year, and Chris still hadn’t returned. Keria had said he was still alive, but then where was he? How had he not come back yet? 

It’s been a month since you last heard from Keria, a voice in the back of his mind whispered. Who knows what has happened in the meantime? 

“No!” he cried aloud. “Chris is coming back. He’s still alive, and he  _ will _ come back.” 

He dropped his face into his hands. “Please,” he whispered.  _ Give him back to me.  _ He didn’t know who he was asking — the Library? God? — but he wasn’t sure he could take this much longer.  _ Please. Give him back to me.  _

**Day 392**

“He will come back. He has to.” 

Santi’s words held less conviction every time he said them. Some part of him still clung to them, though. He hadn’t completely given up. He couldn’t. 

**Day 400**

“Christopher?” 

The light streaming through the cell door was blinding, as usual, but the silhouette and the voice were familiar. 

“Mother?” 

Keria knelt beside Wolfe, lifting him to his feet. “I secured your release. Let us go before anyone changes their mind.” 

Wolfe, despite his dislike of his mother, clung to her. “Where?” 

“Home,” she said. “I cannot stay long, but Niccolo will look after you.” 

Wolfe blinked back tears. “Nic is dead. They told me so. They were questioning him and he tried to run away so they — they killed him.” 

“No, Christopher. They lied. Nic is still alive and waiting for you. And they never had him like they had you. The Library did try to have him killed, but they failed.” 

“Why?” 

“He wouldn’t stop asking where you had gone. They left him be when he did finally stop. He’s alive.” 

Wolfe let out a breath, slumping against his mother.  _ I knew it.  _

**Day 401**

Santi went to bed early. He couldn’t stand to stay up late, because as the darkness closed in so would his fears. Fears for Chris. 

Tonight, unlike too many others, he slept without dreaming. 

He jerked awake, his Garda-trained senses warning him something was amiss. An unfamiliar sound, perhaps. 

A faint knock at the door. 

Slinging a robe around his shoulders, he drew his knife from the sheath hanging on the end of the bed, then padded silently towards the door. 

“Who’s there?” he asked, his voice loud and warning. He placed one hand on the knob, ready to throw it open if the need arose. 

Silence. His grip tightened on the knife. 

“I said, who’s there?” 

“Nic…?” The voice was faint and weary, but nevertheless unmistakable. No-one else called him that. But he did not lower the dagger. It could be a trick. 

He opened the door and immediately forgot about the possibility of a trap. 

Crumpled in front of him, beaten and bloody, looking like he’d crawled out of hell, was his Christopher. 

Santi dropped to his knees, shoving the dagger through the belt of his robe, and gathered Chris into his arms, hardly daring to believe it was real. He felt tears streaking his face and ignored them. “What happened?” he asked. “What have they done to you?” 

Wolfe said nothing as Santi rocked back and forth, both men holding onto each other as drowning men clutch a lifebelt. 

After a few minutes, Santi remembered that they were outside. He gently disentangled himself from his lover, removing his robe and wrapping it around Wolfe, who, he realised, was shaking. “Can you stand?” he asked softly. No reply, just a slow shake of the head. No matter. Santi pulled Wolfe towards him and stood, carrying him bridal style. Chris was easy to lift. Too easy. He kicked the door shut behind him; the slam made them both wince, even though Santi had at least been expecting it. 

“What have they done to you?” Santi whispered again, setting him down in a chair and crouching in front of him. Wolfe clung to him, not letting him stand up. “Don’t… leave…” he managed. 

Santi’s heart was breaking. “I won’t,” he promised. “I won’t.” 

Wolfe said nothing more as Santi gently cleaned the blood and grime from his face and body, then bandaged the worst of his wounds. Finally, dressed in a clean nightshirt, he allowed Santi to half-lead, half-carry him to bed. Once there, he lay down and curled in on himself, knees drawn up to his chest. Santi lay down beside him, his chest against Wolfe’s back. 

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered, for his own sake as much as Wolfe’s. “A broken bone heals twice as strong.” 

Wolfe repeated his words, barely audible. “Twice ‘s strong.” 

After a moment, Wolfe murmured again, “Stay?” 

Santi whispered back, “Always” and put his arm around his lover. “I’ll be with you. When you think you can’t endure, I will help. Believe in me, if you can’t believe in yourself.”

Wolfe’s breathing slowed a fraction as he relaxed, just a little. 

Silently, to himself, Santi promised that no-one would ever hurt Chris like this again. Not while he could prevent it. 


End file.
